A Prairie Home Companion

A Prairie Home Companion
Garrison Keillor's much-beloved public-radio variety show comes to the screen as a delightful all-star extravaganza that, despite its present-day setting, affectionately recalls a bygone era. Written by Keillor and directed by Robert Altman, A Prairie Home Companion whisks viewers back to a time when radio broadcasts were performed before live audiences, actors might miss cues, and sound-effects men worked furiously with primitive equipment to make the appropriate noises. The film, which presents Keillor's show in a fictional context, isn't heavily plot-driven. It follows what is supposed to be the show抯 final broadcast, which puts all the characters at a crossroads. There抯 also a mystery of sorts involving detective Guy Noir (Kevin Kline) and a trench-coated blonde beauty (Virginia Madsen), which licenses Kline抯 most inspired hamming since A Fish Called Wanda. Like the best of Altman抯 films, though, Prairie is carried by a variegated cast of characters involved in minor interwoven dramas, skillfully drawn by resourceful actors encouraged to improvise. Especially satisfying in this regard is the story line that casts Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin as a rootsy singing-sister act and Lindsay Lohan as single mom Streep抯 cranky and, at least at the beginning, non-performing daughter. Equally amusing are Woody Harrelson and John C. Reilly as a pair of cowboy singers prone to injecting more double-entendre into their act than is called for. And of course, there's Keillor himself, dubbed merely 揋K� here, an odd-looking duck whose rich, silky-smooth voice complements his image as a laid-back, bemused participant amid these gently eccentric goings-on. Tasty, if not particularly expeditious, this thoroughly successful Altman-Keillor collaboration is sure to delight fans of these two uniquely American talents. Ed Hulse, Barnes & Noble